


Marked Man

by givemeunicorns



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Biting, Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 07:53:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4011793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givemeunicorns/pseuds/givemeunicorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hell's Kitchen left it's mark on Matt a long time ago. Foggy has found, he kind of likes leaving his mark there too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marked Man

**Author's Note:**

> for the Daredevil kink meme( op here:https://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/725.html?thread=82901#cmt82901)
> 
> Foggy secretly likes leaving marks - lovebites, hickeys, fingertip bruises on hips, etc. Matt, on the other hand, likes leaving/having other traces on/of his lovers - scent, strained muscles, sore throat, lingering tastes... you name it.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own these adorable assholes and I make no money from them or this fic

Foggy Nelson wasn't, as a rule, a big fan of secrets. But there was something about seeing Matt tug at his collar, rub his chest through his shirt, the little tug between his eyebrows and the hint of a smile, remembering how he'd gotten them. Which meant Foggy started thinking about it too, thinking way to hard about digging Foggy watched him for a moment, almost rapturously, before he realized the honeytrap he'd been caught in.

Matt looked up in his direction from across the table, mouth quirked up in a devilish grin. He must have heard Foggy's heartbeat pick up, the heat rise in his cheeks. He knew Foggy was looking at him, thinking about the bruise on Matt's collarbone that he'd put there last night, after he'd made Matt beg him. He'd bitten the skin hard enough to make it bleed. Foggy swallowed hard, forcing his eyes back on his paper work.

It weirded him out sometimes, how much it turned him on, putting those kinds of marks on Matt. Matt was always covered in bruises from fights, from getting his ass dragged across some alley or other. There was something powerful about leaving his own marks on Matt's skin, leaving something to say not just that he'd been there, but that Matt had let him there. There was something about watching Matt touch the marks without thinking, the slow smile he got when he remembered they ache came from pleasure, not from pain, or fear, or any of the other shit he found himself neck deep in more nights than not.

But maybe, Foggy thought, was part of it. Matt belonged to this city in a way Foggy wasn't sure he ever really could. It was his home, he wanted to build it, wanted to fix it. We the son of a handy man. You fixed broken things with hammers and nails, with long hours and hard work and mistake you learned from. Matt wasn't that way, he never had been. Matt solved problems with broken teeth and busted knuckles, the way his dad did, the way Stick did. Foggy loved this city, but Matt was owned by this city. His blood, sweat, and tears lived in the pavement. He always said it was the catholosism, that let him take a beating, but Foggy was pretty sure it was more Hell's Kitchen that had done that. The church had taught him how to bear a heavy burden but Hell's Kitchen had taught him how to stand up again when you got the shit kicked out of you, because if you didn't, it would swallow you whole. Sometimes Foggy was afraid it still might. But the marks under Matt's clothes, the marks Foggy had put there, the marks Matt had asked him to put there, it made him feel a little safer. Maybe it was selfish, maybe it was delusional, but knowing they were there was his own little way of telling the world 'this one is mine'.

The first time Foggy had left a bruise, right on the ball of Matt's shoulder, he'd felt awful about it. He's apologized profusely, fussing over it. He knew it didn't hurt Matt, he knew he wasn't delicate, but he spent so much of his time getting his ass kicked, and here was Foggy, biting him hard enough to bruise because he couldn't keep his shit together when Matt used his sex voice. Matt had just smiled, pressed his face into the curve of Foggy's neck, breathed him deep.

“I like it,” he'd said, “When I can feel you in the morning, when you leave scratches or bit marks, when I can smell you on my skin. I like carrying around some reminders of the good too.”

It had become a game after that, getting Matt to beg, working up to it with the lightest touches of his fingers, grazing his teeth over Matt's skin. Foggy grinned, wishing he were in Karen's seat for a moment. There was a bruise highup on the inside of Matt's thigh, still fresh and angry looking. Foggy wanted to reach down, dig his fingers into it, just to see what Matt would do.

Karen huffed out an exasperated sigh, slapping her papers back down on the desk, and Foggy startled. Her mouth was pursed in the way that said she was more tired than annoyed, her eyes dancing back and forth between them.

“I'm taking off for the night,” She said, shaking her head.

“What? Why?”

“Because Claire and I are doing girls night tonight, and if I have to stay here and watch you two make bedroom eyes at each other across the table any longer, I'm going to hurl,”she said, "And Matt, if you're trying to cover that hickey, I recommend your textured cotton shirt tomorrow. The collar is higher."

Matt snorted, covering his mouth to stifle the laughter, with little success. Foggy blushed.

“We were making.... I mean, how would we even know? Matt's wearing glasses. I can't even see his eyes,” he said, gesturing to his partner, trying not to die from the heat creeping into his face.

Karen knew exactly who's mouth had left that mark. Not that he didn't like people knowing him and Matt were an item but this was Karen, and know Karen was thinking about situations which might lead to Foggy having his teeth on Matt's neck. Beautiful, caring, not awkward Karen had just honed in on a part of his sex life.  He was gonna die, full on death by mortification. He'd go down as the first man in history to actually be embarrassed to death. 

Karen just rolled her eyes, scooping up her papers.

“He has a point,” Matt chuckled, and Karen grinned.

“And you're blind. Sadly, I am neither, and I can't stand to sit here and watch you two mentally undress each other any longer. It's getting weird and I have a date with a pretty lady and a bottle of merlot,” she dropped a kiss into Matt's hair, leaned across the table and kissed Foggy's cheek, “ All I ask is that, if you're going to screw in the office, do it one your desks, not mine.”

“Is your chair off limits too then?” Matt called over his shoulder.

Karen flipped him off.

“Not funny Murdock,” she laughed, heading out the door.

Matt sat back in his chair with a satisfied grin, reaching up to loosen his tie. Foggy saw a flash of purpled skin under the edge of his collar and grinned.

“Let's pack it in,” Matt said with a clever smile, “Gonna need a lot more time with you than I can get on a desk.”

Foggy loaded up his briefcase.

“Hey, you might be surprised what I can do with some standard office supplies.”

Matt laughed.

“You're a freak.”

Foggy beamed.

“Yeah but I'm your freak. And don't you run around in a read leather suit and a mask.”

Matt caught the edge of Foggy's jacket with a wandering hand, pulling him close, close enough to see Matt's eyes dancing behind his glasses.

“It's not leather you know. But if that's your thing, I could probably arrange something,” he said, leaning in to Foggy's mouth.

Foggy met him there, kissed him gently, sliding a hand up Matt's arm, over his shoulder, before pressing his fingers firmly into the bruise on Matt's neck. His boyfriend groaned against his mouth, caught Foggy's lip between his teeth, and Foggy modeled his fingers into the curve of Matt's hip, pushing brutally against the marks he'd left there with his fingers a few days ago. Matt melted and Foggy felt the little thrill of having Matt Murdock, devil of Hell's Kitchen and one of the most handsome bastards to ever walk god's green earth, melting like so much puddy in his hands.

Matt caught his wrist, just a taste of the iron grip he used outside his day job and Foggy pulled back, happier than a fat cat in cream.

“You're an asshole,” Matt huffed, but he was wearing that stupid, euphoric grin that Foggy found entirely too hot for his own good.

He offered Matt an arm.

“My parents spent good money to get my teeth this nice you know. I'm just putting it all to good work.”

Matt snorted again.

“By leaving hickies on my ass? Your mother must be so proud.”

 


End file.
